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Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana represent the cutting edge of Milanese fashion. They don’t advance new ideas so much as rearrange old ones, which, in a way, is an honest admission that fashion, like music, is now about remixing. Among the looks they’re giving currency to are: wider belts; cropped down jackets worn over wool pantsuits; patchwork velvet jackets; hooded satin blouses crunched down around the neckline; platform shoes; and white cotton blouses attached to black Lycra bustiers — so you can now wear your corset to the office.
Dolce and Gabbana also design the Complice line for Genny Moda, and it shows their eclectic style in more colorful ways. This is the sort of circus-inspired collection that one can pick and choose from — pants in Regency stripes, leggings in green polka dots, tramp jackets with plaid patches, quilted yellow vests, tulle fairy skirts with green and fuchsia dots. There’s nothing not to like, except that Kenzo did it all years ago.
Of course, the trouble with junky fashion is that the only thing that separates it from what we already have in our closets is a glue gun. Perhaps this is why one leaves Milan with the unsettling feeling that designers are either struggling to find something new to say or running in place. Karl Lagerfeld tortures fur for Fendi in the same way he tortures Chanel’s tulle skirts, by shredding them into ribbons. Would it be churlish to mention that Vivienne Westwood and Rei Kawakubo did that years ago? Giorgio Armani makes lovely jackets and pants, but would his fall collection have been as newsworthy without the chorus of drag queens at his party? And what do they have to do with his clothes, anyway?
Small wonder in these uncertain times that people gravitate toward clothes they understand, that offer surprise without megawatt glitter and satisfy the simple prerequisite of femininity. Gianfranco Ferre’s clothes are, for once, simple and refined, without a single flying feather or prowling animal print. He relieves the tedium of dressing for evenings with a tailored pair of gray trousers and a poetic white blouse with pleated cuffs. He simplifies necklines with silk T-shirts, and limits daytime luxury to a khaki parka edged around the hem with fur. Pantsuits abound.
Jil Sander has found a following for her elegantly disciplined sportswear. Her clothes tend to suffer on the runway, making one feel slightly depressed and thankful for fresh air. Up close in the showroom, however, they become more personal — user friendly. The androgynous quality of Sander’s clothes baffles a lot of women, until they get the hang of her system. Her clothes do amount to a formula: cool wool pantsuits,christian shoes, soft trench coats, distressed-leather parkas, black chiffon evening dresses, tuxedos. And yet as a formula for dignity and clarity, they resist anarchy to rise above the merely decorative.